Only a Matter of Time
by lCassiopeial
Summary: Andromeda, still reeling from the loss of her father, has her whole world turned upside down when she gets a letter on her 11th birthday inviting her to attend Hogwarts. There she finds friends, enemies, and danger as she comes to realize her father's death might not have been an accident and that she has a secret coursing through her blood, an ancient power that can shape history.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, and along with the darkness came a cold wind, rocking every tree and tearing through the lonely streets. Though the man hunched over his desk was safely indoors, with the heat turned up and warm dinner waiting for him on the stove, he couldn't help but shiver every time a branch rapped at the sides of the wood house. Because something about the night did not feel right. The way the wind whined and howled, the constant tap, tap, tap against his house, and the fact that he had been living in comfortable safety for practically too long. This twisted wind seemed almost a warning of what was to come, a predecessor to death, as if the Earth itself had been holding its breath and letting it out on this very evening, the one where everything would change

Though the man knew nothing of what was to come, he had been expecting it to happen for a while now. After all, it was only a matter of time before _they_ found him, and his family.

Now feeling slightly paranoid, he considered reaching for what he had concealed in the secret space behind the left drawer on his desk. When his hand was halfway there, though, he stopped, feeling foolish. He had never been one to give into fear and ridiculous hunches. So instead, he turned around, flicked off the lights, and headed down the creaky stairs and into the kitchen. After grabbing some things from the cupboards, he seized the big pot off of the stove and ladled some soup into his chipped bowl. Sighing, he sat down to eat, one at a table meant for five. It was almost depressing.

He deliberated waiting for his wife and daughters, but they would probably be a while seeing how chatty friend's parents were and all the traffic at this time of night. Besides, he was hungry and didn't have all that long to eat because those bills wouldn't pay themselves. So there he sat, in the eerily quiet house, the silence indoors greatly contrasted by the gale outside, eating his soup while the dusty light bulbs overhead flickered, nearing the ends of their lives. But the warmth of having food in his stomach was comforting, and soon his earlier jumpiness seemed laughable. His confidants were trustworthy, he had gone to great lengths to protect and hide his family, and they didn't even know a thing. Of course, little did he know that most of his confidants were dead, their secrets extracted in the final moments before their deaths. Had he known the full extent of the danger he was in, he would have taken his family and fled a long while ago, seeking protection. Instead, he sat content, slurping his soup and keeping a watchful eye on the dusty clock to make sure he didn't linger in the kitchen too long.

He was almost feeling smug at this point, but the smile dropped when the wind suddenly stopped. His breath hitched and he froze. He considered passing it off as nothing until he started hearing noises. They were faint at first, but it was obvious that they were coming closer: the sound of footsteps. He dropped his spoon, a mess the last thing on his mind at the moment, and scrambled out of his seat and stumbled to the window. At first, he only saw his sandy-haired, bespectacled reflection looking back at him, but as he squinted out into the inky darkness, he could make out faint shapes trudging down the street.

As calmly as he could with his heart pounding as wildly as it was, he sat back down at the worn table and tried to collect himself. He was hardly moving, keeping his ears attuned to the people silently slipping down the street. He was trying to convince himself that they would just pass by his house and disappear down the street, but years of care and suspicion won out over sensible logic, so he sat perched on his seat. Something about these people, moving so silently and with such conviction, left him nervous. His anticipation only grew as they came closer, and peaked as his hopes were dashed: there was the unmistakable sound of his front gate being creaked open, and he wasn't exactly expecting company.

Leaping off of his chair, he half soared half tripped up the stairs, his sock-clad feet making him slide and blunder. He tore into his office, ripped the drawer open, and swiped through the space behind. He barely made it downstairs in time to receive three sinister knocks. Taking a shuddery breath, he hesitated before turning the corner into the living room and pressing himself against the wall. The people outside knocked thrice more before the door swept open, as if out of its own accord.

Barely daring to breathe, the man drew his fingers over the worn stick of ebony he clutched fiercely in his hands as the hooded figures prowled into his house. Though he couldn't see them he could hear their cloaks dragging across the floor, and they were growing closer. If he didn't seize his chance now, he would lose the element of surprise, and along with it his life, so he took a deep breath to steady himself, and then flung himself out from his hiding place.

Out in the open, he could see that there were an overwhelming nine masked persons, all of whom spun around to face him. He felt a twinge of despair, which he swallowed. Though he knew it was a pointless battle, he could at least take as many of them as he could down with him. So he raised his wand and started throwing spells. Soon the room was filled with bright, flashing lights, ricocheting off of the walls and glowing shields, filling the room with plaster, ceramic, and bits of glass. He was almost feeling good about himself, having taken down several opponents, when he was launched backward by a dart of red light.

He knew it was over the moment he hit the ground, his breath snatched from him, leaving him helplessly staring at the ceiling through cracked glasses. His wand had been flung out of his hand on impact and was now lying uselessly a few feet away. As he lay there, dazed and unable to move, he heard footsteps stomping over. He closed his eyes and winced, ready to brace whatever torture was to come. Instead, he was yanked roughly to his feet. Two hooded figures stepped beside him, gripping his arms with iron fists, and standing intimidatingly at his sides, trapping him. Now that he was upright he could tell that he was shaking and wild-eyed, trapped like prey. It made him feel pathetic. He refused to spend his last moments like this.

So instead of cowering, he straightened his spine confidently, a resolute gleam adopted in his eyes, staring straight ahead at the figure that had come out of the shadows to stand in front of him. He combed the charred darkness under the hood, searching for facial features, but its entire face was thrown under a shroud of darkness and gloom. A small lump formed in his throat, which he discreetly swallowed. The being in front of him chuckled, cold and calculatingly.

"So, I assume you know why we've come." A chilling voice emanated from the black hole of a face, a voice akin to daggers scraped on stone, the harsh bit of winter, the howling wind. In response the man simply narrowed his eyes, defiantly silent. The being growled and stepped closer, the lights in the house flickering and casting it's silhouette eerily around the room.

"We are here to take what's rightfully ours. Where is the girl?" Hissed the shadow impatiently, his voice demanding authority, ownership. The words hung in the air for a second, filling the spaces once occupied by the furniture that lay smashed on the carpet. Then, in a moment, they were shattered like glass, fractals twisting through air, as the scrawny man courageously spit a large, disgusting glob of saliva on the face of the being before him. The room itself reeled its breath in, overtaken with shock as the figure stood frozen, the spit still damp on its hidden face like a solemn raindrop on an inky umbrella, a warning of a storm. Seizing the silence, the man spoke.

"If you were hoping to leave here with that information, I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint. All I can say is that she is not in this house, you can tear it apart brick by brick and you will not find her. You may try me and break me and... torture me, but I will never tell you. Her secret dies with me. As a father, husband and protector it is my sworn duty," the man dictated, words clear and crisp, pouring as much enthusiasm he could muster into the empty words that were mere distractions, "My love, I am sorry." He murmured to himself, too softly for those around him to hear, as he looked up and away from the ring of darkness around him and the evil in front. The evil that was furiously wiping his saliva off of its face and looming closer, murder written in his frame.

Then, with everyone caught off guard, the man lunged forward, forcefully breaking through the grips on his fist though there was the sickening crack of a bone breaking. He had no intention of these people staying in his house and lying in wait for his unsuspecting family, nor did he want to be tortured.

So he rolled forward, scooping up his wand with his good hand and desperately firing a spell into the air, his words dwarfed by the chaos around him as his captors surged forward to regain control over him. But they came too late to stop the shimmering flames that crawled out of the man's illuminated wand. They emerged tentative at first, but as the enchanted flames reached higher and greedily leeched off of the oxygen and power around them, they grew stronger, faster. Soon great coils of searing flame licked at the walls, filling the house with unbearable heat.

The flames consumed the wooden house, swallowing everything and everyone, a great bonfire. To all the neighbors, it appeared that gas had leaked and a spark had fueled the flame, a tragic accident. Nobody would know the truth, the way the man had killed himself to save his family, and just before the flames consumed him he smiled. A sorrowful smile, filled with regret that he would have no more time with those he loved but also glad that he had bought them more. For now, they were safe. He knew someone who would figure it out soon enough and take them under their wing, somewhere safe. And so he closed his eyes, shutting out the screams of the cloaked beings around him, and was swallowed by the starving fire.

Sirens wailed in the distance, but by the time the firefighters arrived and doused the fire, all that remained was a charred imprint of where the house used to be, and, unbeknownst to them, the ashes of ten people now scattered in the wind.


	2. Chapter One

My eyes are still half-closed as I shuffle through the house, the bottom of my fleece pajama pants trailing on the floor. My mind is so muddled I forget to skip the squeaky floorboard, which complains loudly when I pulled my dragging feet over it. I curse under my breath, but the house remains silent. Everyone is still in bed, where I should be too. Unfortunately, it is Saturday, my chore day, so I have to get up at this ungodly hour to make breakfast. But complaining would do no good, especially when we're trying to make things bearable for Mom.

I flick on the lights in the kitchen and, yawning, I start pulling out pots and pans. By the time Celeste and Estelle lumber down the stairs I have a stack of golden pancakes, plates of crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs sizzling in frying pan on the stove, not to mention the steaming cup of tea in my hands, making the kitchen smell minty. They mumble good morning, and sit at the scratched kitchen table. Soon Mom comes downstairs, and smiles weakly after she yawns. I smile back, but inside it breaks me, seeing my once bubbly, happy mom like this, a tired woman who works hard days and long nights to feed her daughters.

After turning off the coffee machine and handing her her cup, I haphazardly carry the plates loaded with food over to the table, playing a dangerous balancing game. The ceramic had barely touched the table top before it was attacked, the clash of metal spoons hitting the tableware clanging through the kitchen. While Celeste was busy thanking me for breakfast, Estelle already scarfed down almost half her food. I laugh before sitting down, a little bit of my tea sloshing out of my mug. Groaning, I start mopping it up with my sleeve. When I am satisfied and glance up, our mother is no longer in the room.

I look around before turning to Estelle, her mouth stuffed full with scrambled eggs, and cock my head. She just shrugs as a response, and keeps on eating. I roll my eyes, and look at the doorway, from which sounds of someone rummaging through a drawer are drifting from.

When Mom returns to the dining room, she has a few small slips of paper clutched in her hand. Grinning, she holds them up and I can make out what they are: movie tickets.

"Happy birthday, girls!" she exclaims, practically skipping towards us and distributing the tickets. I skim mine happily, hardly noticing how firmly my hands are gripping the paper, leaving the edges crimped. We are going to see a movie, all together, in the evening. The title implies that its some sort of post-apocalyptic alien movie, but it's all the same to me. It's not the movie that we're watching that's important, it's the fact that we're watching a movie at the theater at all that matters. We haven't done that since…since dad.

The thought catches me like a blow to the stomach, and I can feel my glowing smile falter and sour. Grief is a funny, funny thing. It's been almost two years since dad died, and now not every day is a hardship, unlike the first couple months without him. I fell into a dark place of despair, but I clawed my way out and I'm as ok as I'll ever be. But now it's not the big things that get to me, it's the small. Like our first birthday without him, or when I read the last installment in a book series we had started together. Every first without him is a fresh reminder of what I've lost.

Sighing, I pull myself back together and force my smile to return. Today is our birthday, a day to enjoy the present and dream about the future, not get lost in the past. I banish my previous thoughts, discarding my sadness and replacing it with warm thoughts of gifts, good food, and celebration.

Realizing I haven't thanked Mom yet, I stumble over and embrace her, awkwardly overlapping Celeste and Estelle. We're all laughing while simultaneously chirping our thanks. Soon we break away, and all tuck ourselves back into our chairs, finishing our breakfasts and chatting. Estelle is excitedly explaining to me and Celeste about the actors in the movie, and how so and so read the book and loved it, and just going on and on. Though I am also looking forward to the movie, my attention can't help but wander over to where our mom is sitting, quietly slurping her coffee. My father's murder hit her hardest, leaving her broken and drained. But as an adult and our mother, people expected her to deal with it best of all. She was pressured into a demanding job that did nothing to ease her aching heart, but put food on the table and kept us off the streets. With time she too moved on, knowing that if she didn't, her life, and with it ours, would stay just as tragic and miserable.

But now, today, she is positively radiant, laughing with us and sighing in anticipation of the movie later, discussing where we'll go for dinner. The mom who has hollow eyes and cries more than she laughs is gone, and seems to have been for a while. I finally start to believe that the mom who smiles and laughs and was broken but fixed, hurt but healed, is here to stay. It's almost too good to be true.

And then, as if sensing my wariness, the doorbell rings, killing our euphoria. Sighing, my mom gets up and marches to the door. We hardly ever receive visitors, so this can't be good. Quieted, the three of us drift away from the table and sink into the squishy couch under the dusty window, squirming as the bell rings again. In the stillness that follows we can hear our mom compose herself, and then grip the door knob, the creaky door hinges solemnly swinging open. Funny how suddenly the mood can change, one second we were laughing and chatting, and now the silence is overpowering, the hesitation and angst thick.

My sisters and I scoot closer together, seeking comfort from each other during the awkward silence. Maybe there's no one there and the doorbell rang as a prank or something.

But then we hear an unfamiliar voice introduce itself, and though words are being exchanged we are too far away to hear what's going on. However, soon the stranger walks into the living room, trailed by Mom who looks uncomfortable. Worried, I look at Celeste and Estelle out of the corner of my eye, my concern and confusion mirrored on their faces.

"Andromeda, Ms., uh, Ms. Clarissa Mcleary wants to speak with you," Mom says, her concern evident in her eyes. "Something about school." She adds, her tone accusatory.

My heart picks up speed and I can see Celeste and Estelle shift their focus away from the stranger and onto me. My mind goes into panic mode as I run through everything that this Clarissa lady could be here about. I'm a good student; I get my homework in on time, excel on my tests, work hard to maintain my scholarship, and even though I'm generally quiet my teachers say they know I am still "engaged in what I'm learning". I do all I can and more, but trouble seems to have a way of finding me. Like when Jonas and his gang were passing rude notes about me in math and I caught a glimpse of them. I remember my facing going bright red, partially from rage but mostly from shame and embarrassment, and feeling like my face was on fire while they silently laughed at me. The next second, the note, and with it Jonas' hand, was up in flames. I swear I did nothing, and the school couldn't prove otherwise, which didn't stop Jonas from pummeling me when he returned from the hospital. Though that was ages ago, and everybody knew Jonas' burns were from a freak accident, so Clarissa couldn't be here about that, could she?

"I…I don't- "I stammer, feeling uncomfortably like a deer in headlights. Though I have almost nothing to say, I feel obliged to fill the silence anyway. But I can't bring myself to say more, the words sticking in my throat and my heart thrashing wildly in my chest. Because what if I lose my scholarship? What if I get kicked out of school? What if, what if, what if?

Across the room, Clarissa's startling emerald eyes meet mine, which I know must betray my panic because her mouth quirks up into a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble, that's not why I'm here," she says, taking a step forward. Instinctively I lean back and further into the comforting couch, which elicits a tinkling laugh from her. "I did come here to talk about school, but not your current one." My angst gives way to confusion as she says this, and after a moment's pause she continues.

"Andromeda, you are special. Have you ever noticed that strange things seem to happen whenever you're upset or angry? Odd, inexplicable things that shouldn't be possible?" I'm taken aback, and its only when I feel an uncomfortable tugging at my scalp that I realize I'm clutching my hair so tight it hurts, an old habit of mine. Clarissa sees my shock and she grins. "You're a witch, Andromeda."

Beside me, I hear Estelle snicker. Unhindered, Clarissa crosses over, her frizzy, orange top knot swaying precariously. She stops and searches inside her green overcoat before victoriously pulling a cream colored envelope from one of its pockets.

"Happy birthday." She says plainly, handing me the envelope. I gingerly take it and admire the swooping jade lettering addressing the letter to me before flipping it over and tearing it open. All though my brain is screaming at me that this lady is a nut-job, a part of me wonders whether she's correct, and it's that part of me that drives me to pull out and unfold the piece of paper inside. Hesitantly and under the scrutinizing eyes of my family I begin to read.

 _Dear Ms. Cady,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Headmistress_

When I look up from reading the letter I'm more confused than when I started. Bewilderedly, I glance over at Clarissa, half expecting her to burst into laughter and exclaim that the whole thing was a prank. But her face remains the same, eyes turned up in excitement and mouth frozen in a lopsided smile.

"What is… _this_?" I say, unable to keep the disdain out of my voice as I hold up the letter. I am met with no answer from the stranger in my living room, instead she reaches back into her coat and rummages around. In the meantime, Estelle takes the letter and incredulously reads it before passing it to Celeste. By the time Clarissa has extracted a thin stick and is holding it in her nimble fingers the letter has circled all the way around the room.

"You're joking, right?" I try again, gesturing wildly at the letter now in my mother's hand. Does this crazy lady honestly believe she can convince me I'm some magical fairy princess destined to go to this magical school that's probably just a loony bin? Or maybe this is just a scam to try and take my mom's hard earned money. Catching my pointed looks, my mom opens her mouth to say something but is cut off by Clarissa.

"I assure you this is no joke." Clarissa says wearily as if she's explained it a thousand times before, but nonetheless a smile dances across her lips. And then, with great dramatic flair, she raises the scrawny stick, mutters something incomprehensible, and waves it, creating two sweeping arcs. For a second, nothing happens, and then, wondrously, the embroidered pillow next to me begins to rise, twirling up halfway to the ceiling. To my left I hear Celeste squeak, and Estelle's mouth fall open in awe.

Incredulously, I laugh nervously, gazing at the pillow floating nonchalantly in the air as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I stand and reach out to touch it when, in a flash, the pillows soft edges harden and the what used to be the pillow falls delicately into my outstretched palm. Astounded, I hold up the little music box. And as I hold it, I feel something inside me stir. This should seem impossible, but it doesn't. It feels right.

Catching my smile, Clarissa grins at me.

"You could learn how to do all this and more. Get your own wand and everything. So what do you say?" she says, her eyes flashing daringly, as if we shared a secret.

Excitedly, I turn towards my mom, who is plastered to her chair, staring dazedly at the music box in my hands as if it were a vicious, rabid beast. Sensing my gaze, her look gets focused once more and she shakes her head, before meeting my eyes.

"Mom, can I go?" I plead, my voice filled with longing I didn't even know I had. I can see my mom bite her lip, before turning to Clarissa and bombarding her with questions. Soon almost an hour has gone by, but we're all captivated by Clarissa and what she tells us of the wizarding world, and the magic she shows us. Even the little things, like colorful sparks, leaves everyone awestruck. And with every bit of magic, I feel something inside me grow, something blaze to life, something I had been missing before.

All my life I have been the odd one out. Though my sisters and I are triplets, we're not all identical. Celeste and Estelle are mirror images of each other, the same thick and straight blond hair, identical hazel eyes rimmed with turquoise, and the same mild splattering of freckles. While we all share the same sloped nose and curved eyebrows, my hair falls in waves of light brown with caramel and coffee threaded throughout, and I am a good inch shorter than them. Not to mention that my eyes are the color of dark chocolate and my skin tanned, like our mother. People always assume that they're twins and I'm their younger sister, which is annoying, but after 11 years you get used to it.

Celeste and Estelle are both so outgoing and I'm…not. Prone to awkwardness and embarrassment when left on my own, I've found it best to stay with them and linger with whatever friends they find. I've been doing it so long that it's what's become expected from me. When we came to our new school, I was determined to finally find some friends of my own. But Celeste and Estelle were so used to having me around they subconsciously never really let me go. They tucked me under their wing, and so I watched from afar as the other kids mingled while my sisters chatted with a group of girls I couldn't care less about. I was afraid to go, to distance myself even further. My sisters have always been closer with each other than me, and I was afraid that by leaving them and making new friends I would widen the gap between us, stretch it farther than a mere difference of facial features. And ever since, I have been regretting it, wishing I could go back and change what I did so that I could finally be my own person, not one third of the Cady triplets. And now, finally, I have the chance I have waited for my entire life. I get a new start where I don't have to be the freaky triplet, a mere shadow of my sisters.

* * *

Even though it's been hours since Clarissa left, her magic and the images she painted with what she said stick in my mind. I'm trying to focus on the movie, on the warm popcorn on my lap, the cool drink to my side. But it's nearly impossible. Today, we sent in my letter, saying I'll go. In six months, Clarissa will be back to help me get my supplies. And in seven, I'll be off on a train to a magical boarding school, a notion that would have seemed ridiculous before but now feels hopeful.

The movie draws to a conclusion and we leave the theater. There's an odd silence between us as we make for the car, and for the first time, I begin to wonder whether I tore a rift in my family. We lost Dad, and now, in a way, my family is losing me too. I'll be gone for most of the year, and when I come back I will be changed. I'll be a witch (just thinking it makes me giddy!), and my sisters, well, they'll be normal people going into year six.

Can I really leave my family? Can I miss growing up with my sisters? And what if I suck at magic, or what if I have no friends? Can I really do this alone?

But then the feeling of witnessing real magic for the first time washes over me again, and I know I'm making the right choice. I will finally be able to control my future and learn to harness my awakening power.

Noticing that I've lagged behind, I rush to catch up and slide in right next to Celeste. Tentatively, I start a conversation and am relieved when I get a response. For the next couple hours, all throughout the car rides and dinner, we talk and laugh, just like always. But I know from the way that my sisters stare at me and whisper to each other, and are a little too polite, that something is wrong. I start to feel a pit of dread grow in my stomach which I try and fail to fill with delicious food.

Without ever really discussing it, we have adopted a non-verbal pact to never fight in front mom. While we often have disagreements, we can settle them on our own without having to drag mom into it and making her choose sides. And I know that as soon as we get home and upstairs, and mom is asleep, something will go down between us.

And, true to my thoughts, after the bill is paid and we make it home, after we unwrap our presents and heartily thank Mom, and after we make it upstairs and the steady sound of Mom's oblivious snores make their way down the hall, my sisters pounce.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Estelle whisper-shouts at me, whirling around until we are almost face to face. Nervously, I shrink back, my traitorous eyes betraying my buried guilt.

"Leaving off to go to some magical school, straight out of a fairytale, and being gone almost the whole year? Leaving only us to help Mom? Not even _asking_ us if we were ok with you leaving? Because, newsflash, we're not." Estelle spits, rapidly firing all my worst and guiltiest thoughts right back at me.

"What's so wrong with me leaving?" I retort. Celeste and Estelle look at each other, before laughing disbelievingly and shaking their heads.

"What's so wrong? Only that we've been together since _birth_ , and we all need you. How are Estelle and I going to be able to manage our school work _and_ do all the odd jobs around the neighborhood so that Mom doesn't have to work quite so hard? And Auntie is still missing, imagine how devastated Mom would be if she turned up _dead_? We all know that you're the best at comforting her, she'll _fall apart_ without you here." Celeste jumps in, her sweet voice laced with venom and the last words spoken as an accusation.

Her words hurt me more than Estelle's. Estelle has always been outspoken and brutally honest, something often contrasted by Celeste's optimism and never-ending kindness. She almost never joins into arguments, and when she does she is never this harsh. I can feel the tears prick my eyes as guilt and shame gnaw at me. But along with the sadness and disgrace there is rage.

"Why should I have to ask for your guys' permission? This is my life and my choice to make! I don't get why you guys are so mad at me for accepting!" I respond, throwing my words like daggers. And then, it hits me. "You guys are jealous, aren't you?" I say, a laugh creeping into my voice. "You're jealous that for once in our lives it's _me_ who's special, jealous because I get to leave this miserable life and go and learn _magic_."

From their reactions, I know that I got it right. But then the hurt and shock in their eyes gives way to anger.

"Why would we _ever_ want to be like you? A freak? Do you think that because you can pull a rabbit out of a hat you're better than us?" Estelle says, her voice rising. In the distance, I hear the sound of someone stirring. Abruptly, we all freeze, our hearts thumping loudly in the silence that ensues. But then we hear no more and satisfied that Mom is still asleep, we all tear our gazes back to each other.

"I am _not_ a freak." I declare, but my voice wavers and I feel a pressure build on my chest.

"Yeah, well then why do you have to go to a _special_ school?" Estelle replies.

As my traitorous eyes began to release the tears I'd been trying to hold in, I feel the pressure build up inside me. I try to bottle it down, but my emotions fuel the growing bonfire until my whole being begs for the sweet release of letting go. And then it becomes too much to hold in. I feel almost like I explode from inside out as the faintly glowing lamp flickers, and we are all knocked down by a raging torrent tearing through the room. It's not so much of a wind but more of a non-solid embodiment of power. It whips my hair, Childs play compared to how it tears at my sisters. Startled, I cry out and I feel the flame inside sputter and go out as the window flies open and the pressure is released.

As we all sit panting on the carpeted, cluttered floor I look up and look my sisters in the eye.

" _That's_ why I need to go to a special school." I say, before picking myself up off of the floor, re-hanging my poster, and crawling into bed, seeking the solace only the soft blanket can provide. My tears dampen my pillow as I slowly drift off to sleep.

In the morning, I slowly wake to the soft sound of Estelle slipping out of bed and creeping downstairs to start her chores. She is soon followed by Celeste, and when I muster the confidence I too make my way down. Celeste and I sit in silence at the scuffed table while Estelle flips French toast.

When Mom finally joins us, we all snap our heads up to look at her before slipping back into our own worlds. From the way Mom looks at us it's clear that she wants to say something, but doesn't. It's only when we dig into breakfast that she opens her mouth.

"Look, girls, it's clear that something happened between you. I'd be blind not to see it. But whatever this is about know that I fully support Andromeda going to Hogwarts and learning magic." She says calculatingly.

Yesterday, she had been hesitant about letting me go. But the more Clarissa told us about the wizarding world, the more relaxed she'd gotten. I think she had understood that I really was different from her and my sisters, and sweeping it under the rug would do no good. Not only would attending Hogwarts help me, she knew it would make me happy. But hearing her state it here, now and clear, gives me the confidence I need. Though she was the one who gave the letter to the tawny delivery owl, it is now that she is truly letting me go.

Even though my sisters are still fuming, the tension has eased up a bit. I know eventually we'll forgive each other, and we'll find a way to make this work. Until then, all I can do is cross off the days 'til September first.


End file.
